


Call Me On Your Touch-Tone Telephone

by breezybanner



Category: Everyman HYBRID, Princeton Tapes
Genre: Awkwardness, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Retelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-10-01 16:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breezybanner/pseuds/breezybanner
Summary: What do you get when you put a cryptozoologist and an actual cryptid attack survivor in the same room? True love, that's what.OR, can it still considered a meet cute if it's horribly awkward and gets screwed up?





	1. Meet The Cryptids

**Author's Note:**

> \- rating and warnings subject to change.  
fic title : Touch-Tone Telephone by Lemon Demon  
roger deserved better and i'm gonna give it to him.  
also, he's autistic, don't @ me.  
not beta read

**** ** _  
_ **A harsh and ear piercing beep rang sharply through the air, the distinct call of an alarm clock. A young man laid in bed, fully clothed and face down, and moaned ungracefully into his pillow. The loud screaming was like daggers in his head.

_ My favorite part about waking up is the migraines, _ he thought.

He just laid there for a minute before the clock eventually gave up its chimes and fell silent again. Unceremoniously, the man sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His large, rectangular glasses were crooked on his face and smeared with fingerprints. He groaned again as he took them off and tossed them onto his nightstand, managing to stand up while only cracking a_ few _ joints.

Eyes still half closed, he felt around for the doorknob to the bathroom, tripping over clothes and other miscellaneous items strewn all over his floors.

_ I’ll get around to cleaning it up sometime. _ He wouldn’t.

He spent half an hour in the shower, face pressed against the tiles on the wall half asleep. The cold water did nothing to help him wake up, only sending shivers down his spine and chilling his limbs.

"Too many late nights at work," he mumbled to nobody in particular. 

He spent another half an hour trying to fix his hair and find his glasses, a scavenger hunt provided graciously by his short attention span and lack of awareness of his own actions.

The clock kept beeping every few minutes until he finally hammered snooze a little too aggressively, noticing the time. He had about... 6 minutes to leave and get to the bus stop, if he could trust his calculations. He slung his backpack over his shoulders haphazardly and slammed the door behind him, his legs taking him as far and fast as he could go.

So, he didn't make it. By the time he had managed to scramble up the street, the bus was long gone. The next was 45 minutes away. An anxious and exasperated grin plastered wide on his face, he sat against the pole marking the stop and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. God, he was going to get fired on the spot once he got to the meeting point. Today, him and his co-workers were going to meet up in New Hope. Some kind of fundraiser... He wasn't paying much attention in the briefing.

8 stops later, he sauntered up close to his co-workers, hoping his absence wasn't noticed. It was.

3 hours later, he was sitting miserably in a coffee shop, skimming through whatever book happened to be thrust into his bag as he had dashed out the front door.

_ I wasn't fired, at least, _ he thought _ . _ Not yet.

_ You try being in my position, why don't you? I'm a faithful employee with a passion in the field. Waking up early is just hard, _ he whined.

_ My internal monologue narrator sucks _, he whined again.

He flipped through more pages, trying to ignore the barrage of negative thoughts pelting his head. The story wasn't all that interesting. What WAS interesting were a few words that he picked up from a conversation another customer was having in the seat behind him.

"...but maybe it wasn't even a UFO. Maybe I just saw a low flying plane-"

Now THAT caught his attention. It might be a good idea to talk to whoever said that. Maybe there's a story waiting to unfold in the pages of his zine. The thought made a wide grin spread across his face, and he spun around in his chair to face the UFO boy.  
  
The other man was facing away, but looking over his shoulder, nobody was sitting with him. He was talking to himself into a tape recorder.

_ Jackpot. _

"-freaked out from the other thing, and-"

Taking a deep breath, our friend gently tapped him on the shoulder gingerly. "Uh, hey! 'Scuse me, 'scuse me, hey, hi, sorry. Uhm, I heard you say something about UFOs a second ago, and, y'know, if I see somebody talking into tape recorders by themselves, I usually think 'Hey! They're my kind of people', you know what I mean?"

"I- I guess. Uhm, who are you?"

“Oh, uhm, I uh, so I- I- I- I’m an editor- uhm, the head editor at a uh, little zine over in Princeton. Uhm, it’s all about, um- My name’s Roger, by the way, sorry, uhm.”

Roger stumbled over his words, overexcited, his mind racing seven steps ahead. He’s always been naturally friendly, but when someone brought up local legends and cryptids, he would always drift into the conversation, if he wasn’t the one to bring it up. He awkwardly shoves his hand out for a handshake.  
  
“Nice to meet ya,” the man says, taking his hand and firmly shaking it.

The next few minutes were spent talking about the other man’s experience. It wasn’t a super uncommon sight in Roger’s line of work, unrecognizable lights zipping around the sky. But Vinnie was really sweet, and cute funny on top of that. Easy to talk to. 

“...so, if you have any… Any questions, or concerns, or uh, y’know, need help with anything in that vein, please dont hesitate to give us a call- or, give me- give me a call- do you have, like, a piece of paper or something? I can give you my information.”  
“Uhhhh, yeah y-yeah. Here. And, my name is Vin, by the way. You said you were Roger?”   
“Yes, that’s right, yeah.”   
“Cool.”   
“Sorry, I was getting a little ahead of myself, hundred miles an hour, sorry.”

Vin grabbed a piece of paper from his own bag, and placed a pen next to it. Roger made sure his usually chicken scratch-esque writing was legible on the sheet, but in his excitement it was probably only somewhat readable.   
“It‘s alright. Yeah, no, I will absolutely give you guys a call um, is this- is this a you number or is this gonna be to your- your office?”   
Roger grinned a bit sheepishly, his fingers tapping against the back of the chair he’d been straddling. It was actually kind of painful, now that he thought about it. 

_ Why did I think about it, then? I hope I at least look cool. _He did not.

“This is a me number. So, any time, generally speaking.” 

“Awesome, alright I will absolutely be giving you a call uh, and there’s some other stuff I might wanna talk about later, um, but- but I’ll be in touch for sure. For sure. “ 

For sure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 8/23/2019 update: fixed minor grammar issues and a sentence i literally forgot to finish. this was written and posted at like, 1am.


	2. Picking Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet walk in the night. What's better for the soul?

A soft breeze is blowing through Princeton. The winds of change, perhaps. It's weather that makes you want to stick your head out the window and just breathe. The sky is dark, but not ominous. Wisps of clouds float carefree through the sky. The moonbeams caress your face when you stare up at it, glittering gently on the surface of a nearby lake.

Tonight is not a restful night, though. It's a safe neighborhood, sure. But Roger can't sleep at all. He feels... something. Something pricking on the back of his neck, like thousands of little bugs under his skin. He tries to squash the sensation by massaging himself there, but the feeling lingers and overstays its welcome. He's never been a very good sleeper- either staying up way too late working, or falling asleep before any of it is done. This time just seems off, though. It's an awful feeling, and thinking about it only makes it worse.

Roger throws on a sweater over his worn out, plain white shirt. _I might as well do something if I'm not going to sleep, _he reasoned. _It's a fine night for a walk._ His bag, full of whatever trinkets or materials he might need for an "encounter", weighs heavy on his shoulders. It's a welcome presence, though. Like a security blanket. He fidgets with the straps, stepping outside and trying to calm himself down. Roger rolls his shoulders and sets off on his stroll.

The quiet patter of his feet slowly grows a little more quick as time passes. If anything, he's feeling worse. Paranoid, almost. Every few seconds he glances around himself, the small suburban neighborhood almost completely silent this late at night. _I'd think I'd prefer if I DID see something. At least I'd know it's there._ If he wasn't looking into the dark corners where the light barely touches, he was staring down at his feet as he walked along. He watched his long laces flop around uselessly as he strolled, flying back in each gust of wind. It chilled his face a little, reddening his cheeks and nose.

Eventually, enough was enough. It was late. He never should've left his house in the first place. He took a deep breath, turning around to head back home.

He stared at his feet more, focusing on watching his laces and whatever happened to pass beneath him as he walked. The cement in some areas had some strange spray painted designs. Some of which were very pretty, kudos to the local hooligans. Others were just flat out weird, some even just carved into cement. As he passed on top of them, he stopped in his tracks. A small flower had been plucked and tossed onto the sidewalk. It wasn't there when he passed the first time. Or was it? He wasn't sure. He picked it up, inspecting it. It hadn't been stomped on yet. It was blue with a few longer, dainty little petals. His knowledge of flowers ended at dandelions, he wasn't sure of exactly what it was. It was a high chance some toddler plucked it sometime during the day and dropped it walking here. There wasn't anything special about it.

The first thing Roger did when he got home was place it in a small glass of water. He stared at it for a while, sitting on the table. It was small, not even really worth putting it in the water. He wasn't sure why he did it. 

The weary and old springs of Roger's bed creaked as he practically threw himself onto it. His window was open a crack, a cool breeze blowing in. The winds of change, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- it's a common blue violet. you'll find them all around the northern states. i know i do.  
shorter tape, shorter chapter. apologies for any delays, i've gotten caught up in other work.

**Author's Note:**

> \- all comments and constructive criticism welcome..


End file.
